


Saiyan Love

by SarahW



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Language Barrier, Love, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahW/pseuds/SarahW
Summary: Sometimes, a Saiyan warrior finds himself experiencing emotions that his native tongue can't even describe, so he needs to resort to his limited imagination, and find a way of his own to express the real depth of his feelings for his mate.





	Saiyan Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> I'm deep into my new chapter of "Yellow Roses", but things got pretty intense and I needed to take a little break and write something else.
> 
> This one-shot is inspired by an anon I got in my inbox on Tumblr, but I'm not sure if it was exactly a play along, so I've decided to publish it independently.
> 
> This is the original ask: "Vegeta trying to say I love you to Bulma in Saiyan, but there’s no word for love so he has to invent it."
> 
> I've never really written anything regarding the Saiyan language, but I hope you enjoy this one...

She stepped out of the shower with cautious feet, fluffy bathrobe cozily wrapping up her naked body as she stood in front of the misted mirror, leisurely defogging it with the palm of her hand and reaching for her favorite comb, proceeding to untangle her short locks as she contemplated the dazed reflection staring right back at her.    

He was already outside.

She could _feel_ him.

After more than five years of coexistence, living under the same roof and doing the best they could to bring up their little boy together, Bulma’s scientific mind still hadn’t found a rational explanation as to _why_ her heart had become so in tune with that of her Saiyan lover, and _why_ she could always sense his presence, at times even his carefully hidden emotions, flowing through her as if they’d become one single spiritual being.    

Her bare feet caressed the white carpet as she walked the few light steps separating her from their private bedroom, anxious hands clutching the collar of her robe when her eyes of sapphire were faced by that one-of-a-kind silhouette, sitting casually on one of the large armchairs in the lounge area, his gaze looking absentmindedly out the windows, lost into the bright city lights dimly illuminating the dark shadows of the night.

 

_‘Should she ask?’_

 

In spite of his apparent nonchalance, with that one foot resting on the seat, and an arm leaning on a coolly bent knee, her man was looking as alien as ever, enveloped by that undeniable, otherworldly aura, reminding her that she’d long ago given up on the absurd idea of Vegeta sharing any kind of resemblance to an ordinary man.

The Prince’s black stare chanced upon her at last, following Bulma’s every move as she graciously tiptoed in his direction, and making her wonder, as he often did, just what invisible force made him shift like this, that unseen power compelling him to leave his own private world behind to turn his full attentions on her.

It was almost as if her elusive partner lived two lives, an uncaring, distant existence of his own, making him walk and act as if _nothing_ and _no one_ in the entire Universe mattered but him, and a life shared in secret with her and their son, those rare but profoundly meaningful moments in which he’d let his guard down, bringing to light a truthful softness, surprising perhaps even himself.

Her feminine brow creased softly, eyes roaming with concern all over the quiet figure now shifting awkwardly on the chair, on the hunt for any of those painfully familiar signs of self-destruction, the nightly ritual of a woman sharing her life with a man always walking on a tightrope, standing at the edge of the abyss as he gambled with Life and Death with a tenacity that made her skin crawl.

His feet gingerly touched the ground, just as Bulma exhaled a faint sigh of relief, satisfied to discover no real damage on his nude torso, nothing but a handful of harmless cuts and bruises that would magically heal before the Sun even rose come morning. And, for an ephemeral instant, they both exchanged a sphinxlike glance, trying to decipher each other’s emotions with not one word, nothing but the mystical bond fiercely binding them together.   

_‘Should she ask?’_

 

“Did you have a nice day?” She asked kindly, her honeyed whisper breaking the unsettling silence as she rested a hand on his shoulder, feeling something _breaking_ inside of her when the Prince responded by turning towards her gentle touch, sinking his nose into her wrist and inhaling deeply, almost desperately, seeking comfort in his mate’s warmth.

Her fingers twitched on his hot skin as she let him do as he wished, savoring and exploring her in his own primal way, and surrendering to his humble dominance when his arms found her slender body, draping themselves around her waist, and around the back of the bare thighs of a pair of shaky legs that could barely support her anymore, stunned by his heartbreaking humility.

There he was, the Mighty Prince of All Saiyans, ghosting the fuzzy fabric of her robe with his ragged breath as he teared her apart, shamefully hiding his face from her, burying it in her stomach, like the coward that he knew himself to be; a man with each foot firmly planted between two crumbling worlds, a haunting past and a hopeful future, a man always keeping something to himself, without the strength or the courage to take a leap of faith and surrender to the unexpected happiness that his beautiful woman and son were so eagerly offering to him.

Bulma’s arms gratefully took him in, polished fingertips soothingly scratching the nape of his neck as she battled the crushing stream of emotions overcoming her at the terrifying memory of her man lying on a pool of blood just days earlier, the wound inflicted by such chilling image still fresh in her mind.

 

_‘Should she ask?’_

 

Seven days.

It’d been seven days ever since he’d surprisingly agreed, without any resistance, to attend his son’s sixth Birthday party, right after she’d managed to bring up the subject with as much casualness as she’d been able to muster.

In truth, Vegeta had never actually missed any of Trunks’ birthday celebrations, and he appeared to have grown increasingly comfortable joining her and her loved ones on most special occasions, something that always meant the world to her, even if her mate’s presence was often a lonesome one. Even so, that still didn’t stop Bulma from being hit by the occasional pang of insecurity whenever she tried to invite him to be a part of events and celebrations which she knew to be embarrassingly foreign to the man she loved.

As always, Vegeta had acted with decorum during their child’s party and, even though he’d mostly kept to himself, choosing to happily focus on the lavish abundance of delicious food instead of wasting his precious time interacting with what he most certainly considered worthless strangers, it would have been impossible for Bulma not to notice the furtive glances that he’d kept throwing to their son throughout the entire morning, and the rare contentment swimming behind those impenetrable eyes, at times looking, dare she say it, _happy_ , pleased to see their little boy clearly enjoying his special day.

But the ecstatic spell was broken as soon as the last guest left the gathering, with the Prince somberly announcing his retreat into one of those strenuous training sessions in his beloved Gravity Room, a grueling one it seemed, based on how categorically he rebuffed his son’s enthusiastic pleas to join him, and on his inexplicable instructions _not_ to expect him for dinner that night, a gloomy command that shook Bulma up straight away.

Her gut feeling warned her back then, announcing something disturbing the Prince’s already troubled spirit, a dark turmoil she’d caught glimpses of here and there all through their rowdy years together, proving her right when, well into the night, she chose to disobey his orders, hysterically looking for him and finding his shattered body splayed upside down on the tiled floors of his training room, pitiably drenched in a puddle of crimson.

Nothing would ever describe her relief when she promptly got her hands on one of the few senzu beans she had left in the secret stash of the chamber’s medicine cabinet, just like she wouldn’t be able to put into words the raging fury she unleashed upon him immediately after he recovered his good health.  

Bulma burst into tears, wailing screams booming across the room as she smacked him repeatedly with those minute fists of hers, flailing and kicking in impotence, knowing that she couldn’t possibly hurt him but needing to do something, _anything_ , to make her man wake up from his delusional pattern of self-slaughter.

She yelled viciously at him, reminding him that it’d been his choice, and only _his_ , to stay on Earth with her and Trunks, and that he was free to leave whenever he pleased, at any time, rather than letting their little boy see him like this, because the child was now getting old enough to understand what was happening around him, and she’d be damned if he allowed his selfish stupidity to hurt or traumatize _her baby_ in any way, her protective maternal instincts taking over, going as far as promising to kill him herself if he really wanted to die with such foolish urgency.

Vegeta completely lost track of just how long their disgraceful confrontation truly lasted, all he knew was how gladly, almost thankfully, he’d embraced it, taking blow after blow with resignation, for once wishing his woman to be physically stronger, if only so that she could cause some real damage and punish him for his egotistic idiocy.

_“Why? J-Just why, Vegeta?!”_ Bulma demanded in a hoarse sob, her voice broken, tears streaming down her flushed face as she leaned into his naked chest. _“Why?! Why can’t you just be happy?!”_  

Her body trembled all over as she bowed in defeat, too exhausted to resist the strong arms lifting her from the ground with utmost care, carrying her all the way through the narrow flight of stairs leading to the cramped room in the ship’s basement, and lying her attentively on the single bed that was once the only witness to their first intimate encounters, long before their only child was conceived.

His nervous mouth descended on hers with heartrending need, merging their lips into a deep, agonizing kiss, and giving her no chance to speak any further, because she was _right_ and they both knew, because it was happiness what terrified him the most, the reason behind the absurd physical abuse he’d been inflicting upon himself. And she was the only one, the only one who could clearly see that the Saiyan’s spirit was torn, torn between the man that he was becoming, and the one he’d been nurtured to be.

The longer he lived on their splendid little mudball, enjoying a life of harmony surrounded by people who, without a doubt, truly cared for him, the stronger his dormant resistance grew, as if there were an immobile part of him who thought himself unworthy of any kind of joy, resorting to brutal self-destruction whenever he let his guard down and allowed himself to fall into such peaceful contentment, and straightening himself up in the only way he knew how, through the most suicidal torture.

_“We… We love you, Vegeta… Can’t you see?”_ She implored hopelessly, cupping his cheeks with her palms and bringing him closer, his brow on hers, whimpering into his mouth in languorous desire when she felt him freeing himself from his skintight pants, pulling her panties to the side with a trembling hand and slowly burying himself inside of her, not even bothering to remove her silky negligee.

His body trapped hers underneath him, driving home into her as he shielded her in his arms, nestling her head protectively in one hand while the other found one of her thighs, thick fingers digging into her flesh as he invited her to hold onto him with everything she had.    

_“Bulma…”_ Vegeta murmured against her parted lips, his sheepish whisper betrayed by the blazing intensity of those ravenous eyes, a wild madness she’d very rarely ever seen in him before. _“I-Ish felah…”_ He hissed fervidly, mouth pursed into a thin line, hating himself for the weakness of the emotions he was about to profess. _“Ish felah… Ish felah nehteh…”_

She shook her dizzy head back and forth, eyelids heavy, frowning in a delicious blend of desire and confusion as she dug her long fingers into the marred skin of his shoulders, jolting in pleasure at the friction of his flesh against her core as he kept thrusting into her, making her lose control, falling apart with the slow, relentless rhythm of his powerful hips.

_“Ve-Vegeta… What…?”_

_“F-Felah…”_ He reassured her while closing his eyes, mortified by his vulnerability, even though the woman shivering beneath him didn’t understand the deep meaning hiding behind his zealous words. _“Bulma… Felah! Ish felah nehteh!”_

He hastened his pace when she rose to meet him with ever growing urgency, her fire burning out of control as he kept pronouncing those melodic words, over and over again, kissing and nipping her lips with animalistic need, and uncontrollably spilling himself within her when the pinnacle of climax hit her, collapsing on top of her as their spent bodies pulsed in ecstasy as one.     

The heiress could barely recall what happened next, only the iron safety of his hold when he flew her in his arms in the middle of the night, settling her back into the warm sanctuary of their matrimonial bed and joining her under the covers as he tucked her in, freely indulging her when she snuggled sleepily against him, and laying the most affectionate kiss on her temple, allowing those enigmatic words to gradually sink into her subconsciousness after he gingerly uttered them one last time.

 

_‘Ish felah nehteh…’_

 

That was a week ago, and the man now sitting on the lush chair in front of her, holding her in the fiercest embrace, almost on his hands and knees, as he took in her calming scent, had been on his best behavior ever since, satiating his warlike thirst with daily training sessions, but taking great care not to overdo it, for her sake and that of their son.

To all appearances, not much had changed in their habitual routine in front of others and, much to Bulma’s relief, not even their young son seemed to have suspected of the bloodcurdling incident taking place in the secrecy of that cursed Gravity Room.

The treasured privacy of their sumptuous bedroom, on the other hand, had been a completely different story, a secluded place where Vegeta had given free rein to a side of him he’d never fully bared before.

As always, the Prince had remained a man of few words, permitting his body to express the fond emotions that Bulma secretly knew him to profess towards her and their son. But there’d been something different in the way he’d made love to her, a heart wrenching sensibility that could almost strip tears from her eyes, at times alternated with the most feverish passion, as if he were desperately attempting to reach out to her inmost soul through his frenzied ardor.

And then there were _those_ words, those three cryptic words melting in his alien tongue whose meaning she’d been powerless to decipher, but that she truly believed to hold some sort symbolic significance to her mate, judging by the raw longing burning in those ebony eyes whenever he voiced them.    

 

_‘Ish felah nehteh…’_

 

The sound would be both lascivious and pure, confident yet painfully shy, but in the mysterious harmony of those esoteric words, Bulma had recognized something vaguely ancient, an exotic archaism that could only belong to the Saiyan language of which her man was now the sole keeper, with the only exception of the little boy who’d recently become his one and only student.           

And so, after seven restless nights lying in bed with the living enigma that was her Prince, staring wide-eyed at the high ceilings with his beaten body dreaming in her arms, Bulma’s innate curiosity had prevailed in the end, resolving to make a little visit to a certain lavender-haired baby boy, in search of the longed for answer that she was still much too cowardly to ask directly to her man.

 

_“Mooooom!”_ Trunks whined boyishly when she’d visited his muddled bedroom earlier in the morning. _“I gotta go! Goten’s waiting!”_ He pouted as he trotted impatiently all over the place, ready to leave now that he’d finally found the fugitive shoe he’d been looking for for a good twenty minutes.

_“I know sweetie, but just come here a minute…”_ Bulma sighed tiredly, already frustrated after only one quick glance at the spiral notebook in her hand, knowing that there was no way she’d ever be able to make some sense out of the chaotic cluster of extra-terrestrial symbols childishly scribbled all over the small, wrinkly pages. _“I can’t understand these symbols, baby… Don’t you want to help Mama?”_

The rambunctious child’s eyebrows rose in sudden understanding. _“Oh!”_ Trunks gasped, a huge grin spreading on his adorably chubby face. _“Ah! Right! Papa made a list! Wait!”_ He exclaimed, tiny hands rummaging through the untidy pile of dinosaur drawings and brightly colored crayons spread across the short-legged table that served him as a desk. _“Here!”_ The boy yelped triumphantly, eagerly placing another equally crumpled notepad in his Mother’s hands. _“Papa made me make a list! It’s… Um… Phoni… Phani… Pho-Phoniti…”_

_“Phonetic?”_ Bulma corrected him knowingly, helpless to stop herself from smiling fondly at her little boy’s lovable antics.

_“Yup!”_ He affirmed, happy to see the pleased look glowing in his Mama’s face as she run her gaze through the pages of his second notebook.

_“I’m sure this will work!”_ She reassured her son, overcome by a new rush of hope now that she could at least understand most of the infantile calligraphy laid bare before her prying eyes. _“Wait a minute, young man…”_ Bulma gently chastised him, latching onto Trunks’ new training gi with one firm hand the minute she saw him newly attempting to escape. _“Do I get a kiss?”_ Her motherly voice reprimanded him, playfully offering her cheek to the rebellious little brat already fleeing from her, and giggling softly when Trunks readily obliged, planting the loudest smooch on his Mama’s face before taking flight, right through the window, in search of the best friend who was now like a twin brother to him.

She gawked through the window until her son’s minuscule, but extraordinarily powerful, figure faded into the distant mass of cottony clouds, her heart rabbiting in her chest when she turned around at last, taking a seat in Trunks’ yellow chair and hoping that the tiny piece of furniture would successfully bear her adult weight.

Bulma’s anxious hands laid the small notebook on the table with extreme care, handling it as if it were one of those prized treasure chests from her childhood stories, filled with the most precious secrets.

The scientist opened the notepad, fingers twitching edgily as her eyes wandered across the squared pages, rapidly noticing the clever pattern that her mate had surely designed: there were three vertical columns in each page, the first one containing the unknown Saiyan symbols, and a second one with what it looked like the phonetic pronunciation of such foreign words, followed by a third column, filled with the final meaning of each cryptogram, quickly revealing that the peculiar language was not made up by an alphabet, but by a single symbol representing each cryptic word.

Trunks’ handwriting was still infused with the typical babyish messiness of a boy his age but, thanks to Bulma’s clever genius, and to those increasingly longer hours dedicated to the one-on-one education of her little boy, she was already quite used to such sloppy scribbles, having no trouble at all, not only in fully comprehending every word penned in those wrinkly pages, but in successfully unveiling the meaning of two out of the three mysterious words coyly murmured by her Saiyan mate.

In effect, the words _‘Ish’_ and _‘Felah’_ were fairly quick to find, with the second one prompting an agonizingly tight lump in her throat. It’d been the word that Vegeta had repeated the most, the one which seemed to hold the greatest importance to him as he’d recurrently whispered it in her ear during those cherished nights of passionate lovemaking within their private Haven.

 

_Forever._

 

The most exhilarating anticipation built up inside of her as her child’s scrawls progressively exposed her mate’s most intimate secrets, particularly after the shocking significance of that vital second word. But it didn’t take long for those great expectations to morph into bitter disappointment, just as soon as she realized, after an uncomfortable second reading, that the slippery third word was nowhere to be found.    

But Bulma Briefs was _not_ the kind of woman to give up so damn easily and, after giving her brilliant mind carte blanche to ponder at liberty for a handful of minutes, mulling over that substantial list of words, a new thought came to her, the canny idea that perhaps the Prince’s puzzling expression was made out of four words instead of three.

A third thorough investigation of Trunks’ scribblings proved her suspicions right, making her hands delve in excitement into the messy pile of colorful drawings in search of a clean sheet of paper, ready to put all the pieces of Vegeta’s enigmatic riddle together, once and for all.

 

_Ish_

_Felah_

_Neh_

_Teh_

 

The red crayon twirled shakily on the thick paper, wide blue eyes already overflown with tears of sheer surprise as they gaped, without a blink, at the astounding sentence finally revealed when she joined those mysterious words together.

 

_I_

_Forever_

_Need_

_You_

 

Her next vision were the blurry palms of her shuddering hands as she covered her eyes with them and she let it all out.

_All of it._

Every poisonous insecurity, every single one of the doubts consuming her throughout all of her years shared with the distant Prince, wondering if he’d truly developed profound feelings for her, or if perhaps he’d chosen to stay with her and Trunks out of some twisted sense of loyalty, simply because she’d accidentally conceived his child and he had nowhere else to go in this world.

There had been times when she’d gone as far as believing that his emotional hermeticism was a sad sign of him still thinking of her as a mere pastime, a warm body to share his lonely nights with during those miserable times when it’d been clear as water that the death of his Saiyan rival, and his defeat at the hands of that diabolical green monster, had made him sink into the most melancholic depression.          

 

She lost any rational notion of time, not knowing how long she’d cried for while sitting on that little chair in the middle of her son’s lively room, or for how long she’d stood in the dark with her mate in her arms. All she felt was relief, miraculous relief at knowing that he _cared_ , that behind that unbreakable façade of solitude and half-silences, Vegeta _needed_ her in his life, just like she felt the light tug of his hand pulling on hers, inviting her without a sound to join him on the plush chair. 

Bulma gladly cosseted him, sitting on one muscular thigh and leisurely reentering reality thanks to the strong arms carefully sitting her on his lap, one of them enclosing around her waist, bringing her closer, while his other hand rested lightly on her bare thighs, delicately exploring the naked skin hiding beneath that white robe.

The pair of hungry lips finding the mouthwatering curve of her neck were making it increasingly hard to think, brushing her frenetic pulse with maddening tenderness and grunting in soft triumph when her head fell back in submission as she gave herself to him, hanging possessively onto his neck with trembling hands as her throat choked pitifully on the new downpour of tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

 

Too much.

_It was too much._

 

It would have been impossible for her to count how many times she’d been intimate with her man like this, but tonight felt different, tonight she _knew_ , she knew just how deep his feelings for her run, and when Vegeta’s fingers began to move away the fabric of her clothing, languidly tracing the line of her bare shoulder with a hot tongue, all it took was that unnervingly salty scent to make his avid lips freeze in the spot.   

“Bulma?” He called for her into the night, his tone a fearful whisper, seeking her gaze as he brushed away her poignant tears with reverent fingers. “Is…? Is everything alright?”

Her words wouldn’t come, thoroughly overcome by the day’s astonishing revelations, and by that mesmerizing look of concern beaming in her lover’s confused eyes. And she simply nodded in shy reassurance, smiling sweetly through her tears as she instinctively tightened her minute hands around his neck, clutching a handful of his wild mane as she engaged her lips with his for a long, idle kiss, allowing herself to drown into him, and into that rare comfort that his quiet presence never failed to bring into her life.

 

_‘Should she ask?’_

 

“Vegeta…” Bulma murmured, feeling herself relax under the protection of her mate’s solid grip. “Can I…?” She stuttered with wariness, briefly biting on her lip as she took Vegeta’s face in her hands, running her thumb across the fresh bruise spoiling his cheekbone, as if her loving touch could heal the minor wound for him. “Can I ask you something?”

The warrior’s expression didn’t budge as he bowed his head in silent assent, knitted brows betraying his pretend aloofness while he stroked her damp hair with a coarse hand, patiently waiting for his woman to share her burden with him.

“Did…? Did your people…?” Her voice shook in apprehension. “Is there a Saiyan word for _‘Love’_?”   

She could see his pupils dilating, even in the dark, waiting for what felt like an eternity for him to shake his head in denial, confirming a sad truth that she’d known all along: that those elusive Saiyans were so viciously uptight towards any kind of emotional attachment, that not even a word existed in their enraged world to voice the most powerful emotion of them all.

“I see…” Bulma timidly carried on. “But would you…? Would you say that…?” Her hands now rested nervously on the Prince’s naked chest, knowing that she was about to step into a dangerous territory, but _needing_ him to know that she knew, that she’d just discovered emotions inside of him that rivaled her own, and the joy that such revelation had instilled in her fragile heart. “Would you say that _love_ is…? That it’s like a _need_? Like… Like a _need_ that lasts _forever_?”        

Her boldness could have made him run scared, forcing him to retreat back into his shell in the same way he used to back in the old times, those earlier days and nights spent away from home, away from _her_ , brooding and driving himself to insanity through his own emotional stupidity.

But tonight, as he rejoiced in those glorious turquoise eyes staring at him in expectancy, it wasn’t fear what took a hold on him but liberation, a strange freedom arising from his woman’s unconditional acceptance of him, and the happiness that the acknowledgement of his embarrassingly sentimental emotions for her had brought her.

Vegeta glanced out the window, thoughtful eyes lost into the dazzling city lights, and the faint ghost of a lopsided smirk etched on his lips, taking pride in his woman’s cheeky intelligence, and in how effortlessly she’d managed to decipher another one of his most guarded secrets, marveled at how little he was now fearing the inevitable day in which Bulma would eventually strip him from his every mask.

And, when he met the nerve to nod in sincere acceptance, turning his sights on her, once again, he wasn’t at all surprised by the tearful face welcoming him back, or by those pretty lips trembling into the crook of his neck as she curled up against him, not even by how frighteningly natural it was for him to drape his arms around her narrow figure, cradling her affectionately as she dissolved into those _happy tears_ that he could so easily recognize these days.

The Prince leaned back on the chair, holding the weepy bundle that was his Bulma as close as he could, soothingly running his hands up and down her quivery back as she set her emotions loose, holding onto the blackened stone that once was his heart just a little tighter with her greedy hands.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, cooling breath, lulled by the distant sounds of the luminous city that he now called home, and the gentle breathing of the woman nodding off in his warm embrace, the woman who’d, against all odds, become an intrinsic part of his very soul, the woman he couldn’t possibly live without anymore, even if he still found himself stubbornly rebelling against the undeserving love that she so freely offered.

And he could have sworn that he wasn’t yet dreaming when her final words caressed his ear, not long before Morpheus claimed her for himself.

 

_“I love you too, Vegeta…”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There it is! 
> 
> I don't know if I got this one right, but I really enjoyed experimenting a little bit with the idea of Vegeta trying to find a way to express his feelings for his Bulma...
> 
> I hope you liked it!


End file.
